


embrasser

by néohs (bangin_patchouli)



Category: Hunter X Hunter, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sports, Boys Kissing, First Kiss, Fun, Gentle Kissing, Happy, Hunter Exam (Hunter X Hunter), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, Kissing Prompt, M/M, Neck Kissing, Soukoku | Double Black (Bungou Stray Dogs), Sports, Tumblr Prompt, Writing Exercise, cross country runner illumi, cross country????, for once lmao, hisoillu, hisoka is proud of him, leopika - Freeform, pride kiss!!, thats for the first chapter but i just now tagged it sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-13 09:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangin_patchouli/pseuds/n%C3%A9ohs
Summary: A collection of filled prompts from a list of many kisses, between many different people.1. ... on a scar. [soukoku]2. ... out of pride [hisoillu]3. ... because they're running out of time [leopika]





	1. 20. ... on a scar [soukoku]

**Author's Note:**

> Theydies, we are struggling to write anything worthwhile. So, naturally, I've decided to ask my lovely friends to gift me with a prompt and pairing of their choice for me to write these little drabbles! These are all from the prompt list titled "Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss" by grey-wardens-dont-have-dental on tumblr, for which I sadly do not have a link.
> 
> Anyway, my twitter is [Link text](https://twitter.com/VlTASEXUALlS) (I hope I did that hyperlink right), so you can find me there!

        Chuuya doesn't say anything when he sees Dazai. He doesn't say anything because he’s too afraid he’d break what little silence there is. Yokohama is awake, noisily and unpleasantly below the window, and Dazai is gazing out of its glass blurred by grime. But Dazai is silent. He's looking out of the window into nothing; he's always like this, and Chuuya is looking at Dazai.

        He’s lain, almost wispily beneath the rumpled sheets, bandages half on, half off and feather light around him, swirling like a snowstorm on a backdrop of grey. Chuuya had covered him back up, known he'd wanted to be because he always _does_ , but Chuuya is still looking at the skin he's allowed to remain bare. It’s still flushed, just slightly, a rosy pink that perplexes Chuuya every time; how does he get this pink? It’s damp, too, just on his neck, his chest, where Chuuya can see a bit of a purpling bloom of burst blood vessels flowering where he knows bandages will be later. Chuuya feels a bit of a twinge in his chest, the one he can't ever place, the one he always wants to ignore, and the one that never really goes away.

        He stops buttoning his shirt, twists in his place on the edge of the bed to fully face Dazai. He turns to Dazai and tries to make it look like he isn't _looking_ , knows Dazai would rather Chuuya hit him than _look_ , but the white lines, pink lines, purple lines are just something Chuuya hasn't ever been able to _not_ see.

        Dazai scowls, turns his face farther away, and Chuuya would say he's become upset if he didn't know better. But he does know better, and he reaches an ungloved hand out, doesn't know where he's putting it until it lands with a flutter on Dazai’s forearm. He's glad Dazai is still warm, likes it the most when he can feels Dazai’s skin on his own, any part of it.

        Chuuya bites at the inside of his lip, hates the feeling but does it anyway. He can't _not_ when Dazai avoids his eyes like this. He would do anything for Dazai to just look at him and understand the words he won't say, because saying them would mean they’ve passed his lips, and Chuuya doesn't want handle anything passing his lips but Dazai’s breaths, hot and fast when Chuuya’s hands shove off his coat, and the wine he’ll drink later on when he's wishing he was kissing Dazai again.

        But in his reverie, he hears Dazai sigh, and swings his legs around to press against Dazai’s side. It feels odd to touch Dazai when they’re not both naked, but the barriers between them are so thin. But he does it anyway, leaning down on his elbow, and Dazai’s face is only inches away from his now. He runs a hand up Dazai’s forearm, doesn't falter in the slightest when his fingers smooth over raised lines, long in some places, wide in others, and both in all the rest, and he looks to Dazai’s eyes.

       They’re brown, Chuuya knows, but he likes to blink and see purple swimming in large irises. He leans farther over Dazai, and this time slips his hand under the sheets at Dazai’s sternum to curl it around his bare waist. When he looks up again, Dazai’s looking at him, the most exposed expression carving his elegant features, and there’s that twinge again. Chuuya circles a thumb over a thin cord of scar tissue over Dazai’s hipbone.

        “What is Chuuya doing?” Dazai asks, so quietly, and Chuuya ignores how he melts into the haziness of Dazai’s voice every time lets himself be soft.

        “Just touching you. Do you want me to stop?” Chuuya returns, and he would if Dazai asked. He's mean, he's rough, and he would not give Dazai a second glance in the presence of anyone else, but in the sheets of the bed that they share behind a locked door, he would do anything Dazai asked.

        “No, you don't have to,” Dazai murmurs, and Chuuya watches him close his eyes, like the way his eyelashes, long and ample, brush against his cheek. “I just don't know why you like to touch me. It’s not as if it feels nice to touch.”

        And at that Chuuya wants to scoff. He doesn't, instead moves his hand to hold tighter around Dazai’s lower back, and breathes low against Dazai’s shoulder, letting an elongated bump graze against his bottom lip. He doesn't care if it isn't nice to touch. The skin under his hands is Dazai’s, and that's why he does it. It feels like everything he privately wants, and he presses his lips against the dip in Dazai’s shoulder as if that says it all.

        “Does it look like I care?” Chuuya says, and he's trying to be careful, means the words to say, _it doesn't matter because it’s you._

        “No, it doesn't.”

        Chuuya rises onto his hand, and puts another kiss over the purple lines below Dazai’s collarbone.

        “Can I kiss your arm?” Chuuya asks, and that's where it’s worst. He has an agenda, and Dazai must know that he Chuuya loves him entirely, every line and every vice.

        Dazai hums, and Chuuya regards the qualm in his voice with care.

        He runs his hand back over Dazai’s abdomen, letting it fall to grasp Dazai’s. He hears the minuscule hitch of air in Dazai’s chest, and slows. The trail of kisses he leaves is softer than any touch he’s given Dazai this morning, over the sharp curve of his shoulder, his bicep, inner elbow, his forearm, his wrist and the jumping pulse there, down to the very tips of his lithe fingers. If his lips left a color in their wake Chuuya thinks it would be pink, wishes his kisses would stain because pink looks beautiful on Dazai’s skin. All the pink and the purple and the white nobody else gets to see, looks like just another part of Dazai, beautiful, and Chuuya whispers the word onto Dazai’s lips before he kisses him, once more.


	2. 42. ... out of pride [hisoillu]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illumi is a cross country runner. Hisoka is proud of him, very physically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is for a mutual on twitter!!! love u thanks for requesting mwah hope u like it.
> 
> iiiiii dont run cross country so i really have no idea what its like. i did a bit of research, so i hope its at least somewhat accurate!!!

        Illumi's feet hit the ground with raw but controlled force, and his surroundings sprint in the opposite direction in flashes of smeared green. His lungs are burning a trail all the way up his throat, and every long, fast pace he makes sends a muted shock through his joints. Running is fucking hard, but college itself is harder, and even with sweat dribbling down his neck slow enough to cool in the wind he leaves behind him, Illumi relishes in the feeling of his painful, ardent success.

        At least, the success he has in the moment. He can't see the end of the sprint just yet, but he _can_ see an opponent runner tailing him out of his peripheral vision. He’s big, and long too, Illumi remembers him from before the race started, but his focus lies not in recollecting his opponent’s face and instead in pulling air out of the air and into his lungs.

        Vaguely, he can hear shouts and cheers from outside of the trail, but the sound encompassing his head is the gravelly thuds of tennis shoes on the ground and his own almost rough breathing. In the damp blades of his shoulders, he feels himself lagging, the incentive to win being taken over by the desire to stop. In a swift jab, he lands a sharp punch to his upper thigh, urging himself on, but he blinks once, and through the wispy flyaway hairs raggedly framing his face, he sees the other boy gaining on his left.

        He’s been matched at this point, and adrenaline, to his utmost relief, sparks to life in the center of his chest. The fire of competition spreads through his veins and burns onto the hard, flexing planes of his muscles, and beside him, the boy lets out a gritty shout. That's the final motivation Illumi needed, he finds, because a flashing moment later, he's surging forward, holding back a strident yell of his own. His hands straighten, the wildfire of it all stretches out over every inch of his skin, and suddenly, he can see the finish line.

        Or rather, he can see a rather dull yellow banner, and behind it, slightly to the side, a bright, icy blue head of hair, not where it’s supposed to be. Hisoka is waiting on the other end, and Illumi might never tell him so, but his fingers feel like reaching out.

        All of his surroundings fade to a flat, blurry green, and his vision becomes a tunnel toward Hisoka. All the burning his body is doing just can't seem to direct itself anywhere _but_ Hisoka, when it should be flooding out in the form of _I’m winning, fuck, I’m winning._ But he doesn't find that he cares where the feeling is going, as long as it takes him past that banner and straight to Hisoka.

        Over the pounding in his ears and the suffocating feeling twisting in his lungs, Illumi almost doesn't notice it when the banner slaps and rips against his abdomen. He registers it for half a second, and then barrels with the force of the ten kilometers he’s just covered straight into Hisoka’s open arms.

        Hisoka feels like a wall for a moment, arms not touching Illumi, but still, Illumi throws stinging arms over his shoulder and around his neck. Then, Hisoka’s arms are around him, tight and solid, but a bit lower than Illumi had anticipated. He jumps, right into what Hisoka planned, and suddenly Hisoka’s hands are against his ass, and he has no choice but to wrap his legs around Hisoka’s waist. Hisoka spins, so characteristically, and Illumi holds on tight to him, head dropped into Hisoka’s shoulder and breath coming in hard.

        “You did it,” Hisoka praises into Illumi’s ear, but he feels it more when Hisoka squeezes his fingers.

        Hisoka slows to a stop, and the cheers for other runners as they finish fades into Illumi’s ears as he leans back enough to look at Hisoka. Unforeseen by Illumi, Hisoka is positively _gleaming._ His eyes, amber and flecked in the sunlight, are sparkling, and the grin stretched across his lips isn't menacing at all. In fact, there isn't a speck of malice, it’s all…

        Pride, Illumi realizes, tightening his grip on Hisoka’s broad shoulders, and he feels his face shift to the wide-eyed, closed mouth expression of shock. But he can't linger on that long, because again, in the second he blinks, Hisoka is closer again, much closer. He always seems to be good at making advances.

        Hisoka’s lips are avidly on his then, and Illumi knows by now that Hisoka is all tongue, all the time. He slips his into Illumi’s mouth, and Illumi lets him, quietly likes the way it feels when he feels a wet swipe against the inside of his bottom lip. Hisoka moves one hand up to Illumi’s waist, and Illumi finds himself holding Hisoka’s face like a frame. He’s breathing heavy again, as if it had stopped and restarted all in one slow minute.

        “You did it,” Hisoka says again, except this time he breathes it against Illumi’s lips, and Illumi finds his cheeks burning enough to drop his head back into the minor seclusion of Hisoka’s neck. “I’m so fucking proud of you, darling.”

        Illumi feels a shiver at that, despite the heat of the sun, but the shiver melts to warmth in his chest as Hisoka softly twirls them both again before allowing Illumi to stand again. The moment his feet touch the ground, he's swept away from Hisoka, a medal is placed around his neck, and he’s being announced over the loudspeaker as the first place winner of the National Cross Country 10k Meet.

        Illumi finds that his body, despite the amount of training he does to have won the race, by the time all the talking is over, is more than exhausted, and he wants nothing more than a shower and for Hisoka to let him lie on top of him in the living room of their apartment.

        Hisoka finds him, and when he pulls him aside, Illumi has never been more relieved. Hisoka hands him a water bottle, and the iciness of it feels like heaven on the back of his throat.

        “I.. want to go home now,” Illumi says to him, and Hisoka laughs out loud. Illumi thinks that Hisoka seems to find everything amusing, when it’s coming from his mouth.

        “You don't want to stay for the banquet?” Hisoka asks, but he's already caging his arm around Illumi’s back and turning him away from the crowd and toward the parking lot.

        “No,” Illumi frowns, “I never want to stay for the banquet, you should know that.”

        “I do know that,” Hisoka says. His arm holds flush against Illumi’s back now, and Illumi feels it start to descend.

        “Then why did you ask?” Illumi walks in-sync with Hisoka’s accommodating steps, but he's hyper aware of Hisoka’s hand ghosting open-palmed over his ass.

        “I don't know, perhaps you had a different idea today,” Hisoka reasons. Illumi slips his arm under Hisoka’s and hooks it around Hisoka’s waist, faintly envious of how dry Hisoka’s clothes are.

        “I do not,” Illumi says, and Hisoka hums. Hisoka’s hand solidifies against his ass, and just as he'd planned, Illumi delivers a sharp pinch to Hisoka’s side. And, just as he'd planned, Hisoka’s hand jumps back up to rest around Illumi’s shoulders.

        “Ah,” is all Hisoka exclaims, but Illumi feels rather accomplished.

        “And do not touch my ass when we are in public.”

        “Noted,” Hisoka says, leaning down to press another kiss full of that _pride_ Illumi is so unfamiliar with to Illumi’s cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof i hope this isnt completely different from what u were expecting. IT WASNT EVEN THAT SEXY THATS SO OUT OF CHARACTER FOR ME WRITING HISOILLU.... well dont worry the next hisoillu in this little series is gonna be.... very lovely and (post) sexy. anyway thank u for reading!


	3. 38. ... because they're running out of time [leopika]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leorio thinks Kurapika can't possibly be comfortable sleeping like that, so he does something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is for my most lovely lady tay on twitter! i love you so much, thank you for requesting this!
> 
> this is actually my first leopika EVER which is WILD because i think about them Daily and i would do anything for my beautiful boywife kurapika and his boyfriend the DOCTOR.. so this might seem somewhat out of character? just because its my first time? and ive not read much of them either because it REALLY JUST DOESNT EXIST HUH...
> 
> i also tried??? to relate it to the kiss prompt 38 but i think i didnt quite have it seem like they were rushing... crying emoji... i hope its still good...
> 
> anywayyyyyy so its set during episode 12 of the 2011 series when theyre in the room after the third phase of the hunter exam for 50 hours. so imagine it there! i hope yall enjoy feedback is always incredibly appreciated, thanks for reading!

       The television burns Leorio’s eyes, and he doesn't really know what he’s watching anymore. It’s got to be an hour or two away from dawn, he’s still got time to sleep if he gives up his aimless goal to stay awake as long as possible. He hasn't felt alone in hours, how could he? He hasn't been, won't be until they finish this goddamned exam. But to his right, he feels just a bit more of a  _ somebody. _ He already knows who it is, he's been there the whole time, surrounded by towers of books that keep amounting, but he looks to Kurapika anyway.

       And here’s where his mind gets a bit clouded, clouded in the way that he's not quite sure how he feels, just knows that it’s the most unfamiliar feeling he's ever experienced, all jumpy and red in the cheeks and  _ new _ , swirling into a mellowed kind of adrenaline every time Kurapika speaks. Kurapika, just feet away, had fallen asleep sitting up maybe a couple hours ago, but Leorio can tell he’s just drifting. His hair is pretty, Leorio thinks without abandon, and then blinks in shock at his own thought. But he indulges, realizing he's not had a moment really to look at Kurapika without being seen back.

       Kurapika  _ is _ pretty. His bangs have fallen in his eyes, and in sleep, a softer, more blank expression rests over his face. Leorio finds that in comparison, he likes this gentle look over the intensity of his entirety when he’s awake. Though, he does like that as well, something about it riles him a way that he doesn't inwardly mind being riled. But he keeps looking, and finds himself standing up and leaving the blanket on the floor to walk quietly toward Kurapika. He doesn't blink, afraid that if he does, when he opens his eyes, Kurapika’s will be open as well. But Kurapika’s eyes are still closed, and his head is leaned slightly onto his own shoulder, supple pink lips agape just so.

       As if trying to surpass himself in absurdity, Leorio has a sudden thought that Kurapika can't be comfortable sleeping like that. He kneels, both knees digging into the rough carpeted floor right in front of Kurapika, and his hands are already out. The silence buzzes in his ears like a distant light, he supposes that's what it is, the active building moving with the trials around them. But he holds his breath, and somehow still hears breathing; his heart jolts when he’s close enough to realize that it’s  _ Kurapika’s _ breathing, and that he's still sleeping, just barely inches away. A warm feeling tingles all over Leorio’s skin when he has another realization, and it’s that he wants to touch Kurapika’s cheeks with the tips of his fingers, just the tips; he thinks that they would be soft, and then thinks that he's crazy.

       But in a lashingly fast moment, he thinks that it’s late, he's not slept yet, and he doesn't care if it’s crazy. He hopes Kurapika doesn't wake up to the touch, but he's prepared enough to feel the sting of a slap on his own cheek if he does. And so he raises his hand, silently, slowly, until the tips of his fingers brush like a feather over Kurapika’s sleeping face, just like he'd planned. In the realization that he's  _ actually doing it _ , and that Kurapika’s skin  _ is _ soft against the pads of his fingers, he feels giddy, and all of a sudden Kurapika’s lips are coming into focus. They’re small, but shaped so prettily, with a cupid’s bow curved like a stretched out heart. Up this close, he can tell that in his lax expression, his bottom lip juts out just slightly without any attempt, and Leorio pushes away any thought he might have been holding onto about any girl he’s ever thought of for more than a moment, because Kurapika’s lips alone, glossed just a bit toward the inside and rosy, outdo anyone else’s.

       It’s because they surpass anyone else’s that Leorio finds himself closer than he remembers allowing himself, that now he can see Kurapika’s eyelashes fluttering on the fragile skin of his upper cheek, right above Leorio’s poised fingers. His heart inside his chest jolts, and then so does Kurapika, right into Leorio’s other hand, set perfectly at the height of Kurapika’s shoulder.

       “Leorio, what-?” Kurapika says in a yelp, too loud for Leorio’s vibrating nerves in the presence of Tonpa and the kids.

       In retrospect, Leorio did have time to think. He didn't  _ have _ to do what he did, but in his defense, his skin felt like matches being lit, all at once, burning all the way up to the tips of his ears. He only had two thoughts active in his head, one of which being the fact that if Kurapika spoke any louder, everyone else would wake up to see them in this rather unfortunately awkward situation, the other being Kurapika’s lips, still too close to Leorio for him to  _ not _ do what he does.

       So when he infringes into Kurapika’s space, one hand still on Kurapika’s cheek, the other grasped around Kurapika’s bicep, it’s because he isn't thinking. But when he looks into the somehow twinkling brown of Kurapika’s wide eyes for just a split second and doesn't stop himself from slotting his own lips against the other boy’s, swallowing any more words into his mouth, it’s because he's thinking too much.

       Kurapika’s arm is tense beyond belief beneath Leorio’s hand, but his lips feel just as soft as Leorio had thought they would be, the swell of his bottom lip fitting rather well between both of Leorio’s. He feels the oddest exhilaration prickling at his nerve endings, and brushes his thumb in a gentle downward swipe against Kurapika’s cheek. It only intensifies when Kurapika  _ doesn't  _ push him away, when he feels a smaller hand press hesitantly in a loosely closed fist against his chest, and he surges just a hair forward before pulling away from Kurapika, feeling momentarily lightheaded at the quiet, wet pop of their lips as they separated.

       “Don't talk so loud, you’ll wake everyone up,” Leorio says, voice uncharacteristically  _ low,  _ he's never spoken this quietly to Kurapika, but likes the lack of grate he sees in Kurapika’s expression as he says it.

       “Why did you do that?” Kurapika asks, the only indication he heard what Leorio had said being the volume of his voice, and after having his mouth exactly where those words come from, Leorio suddenly thinks that Kurapika’s voice is a smooth and sweet as liquid honey. Leorio thinks that Kurapika should be bristling, but his hands stay where they are simply because he is not.

       “Because you.. you were going to yell,” Leorio tells him, and he feels like they blink at the same time in the second of silence. Leorio really wishes then that Kurapika could just read his mind. “They would wake up.”

     The silence that resurfaces then isn't  _ awkward _ , at least Leorio doesn't feel it if it is; he just slips both of his hands to fall on his knees where he kneels in front of Kurapika still, Kurapika who doesn't move away from him, just looks down to his own hands, and Leorio hopes that's not anger blooming onto Kurapika’s features. It can't be, because Kurapika looks back to him then, and Leorio can see a million thoughts a second racing behind his brown eyes, he just doesn't know what they are.

       Leorio, not quite a one track mind but still in essence, only has two thoughts that he wants to do anything about: one, his original one, the one that created this unfamiliar situation in the first place, that it really can't be comfortable to sleep on the floor like this, and two, that he wants to kiss Kurapika against, wonders what he tastes like.

       And so he does it again, because what is impulse if it isn't acted upon?

       “Kurapika, do you want to sleep on the couch with me?” he asks.

       Kurapika’s eyes widen more somehow, and like that, they really do twinkle, even if only by the light emitting from the white screen of the television. But he doesn't speak, lips parted, and Leorio glances to them again, wondering if he should maybe regret asking all together. But he doesn't regret it, and in fact keeps going.

       “I mean, just because the floor is uncomfortable I bet, and you’ve already slept on it for one night, I just thought maybe you’d want to sleep somewhere softer. It’s fine if you don't, don't worry-”

       “Leorio, now you’re going to wake them up,” Kurapika says on the huff of an exhale, one that sounds curiously like a laugh. “Yeah, I.. I got cold last night, anyway.”

       Leorio feels such a rush through his chest at Kurapika’s elongated version of  _ yes _ , and stands immediately after grabbing Kurapika’s hand, pulling Kurapika with him resultantly. He likes how Kurapika’s hand feels in his, a bit colder, and maybe it’s the fact that it’s late, but he keeps it clasped in his own until he drops down onto the couch, rustling the cushions.

       Kurapika stands, still, frowning to himself beside Leorio’s knee. Leorio knows what he's worrying about, but can't bring himself to do the same, and pulls Kurapika down to sit beside him. It feels surreal, why would he be doing this? But the question follows, why would he be doing any of this? He doesn't have an answer, but what he does have is a wonderfully jittery feeling in his chest and Kurapika sitting flush beside him.

       “Hey, Kurapika?” Leorio whispers, and watches the way Kurapika’s hair moves when he turns his head. “Can I do it again?”

       “‘It’?” Kurapika repeats, and Leorio hates that he's going to make him say it.

       “Yeah, you know,” he rambles, but the way Kurapika is tilting his head as if he doesn't know what Leorio means when he  _ does _ is so  _ cute _ that he really doesn't mind the idea of saying it out loud. “Kiss you. Again.”

       If Leorio didn't know better, he'd think Kurapika was caging a laugh again. But he does know better and the filter of sleep still in Kurapika’s eyes turns them soft, hazy, and Kurapika closes his eyes for a moment before he nods.

       “It’s just because… That was nice and all, but I kind of want to do it again, and on purpose this time, and if I don't do it now, we’ll run out of time probably, and…” Leorio’s never been this out of sync with his mouth before, but it’s likely just because he’s trying not to stare at Kurapika’s.

       “If we’re going to run out of time, then you should really just,” Kurapika says, and Leorio waits for him to finish but finds the former leaning up to connect their lips this time. It feels just as soft as before, but slower, slow enough that the hours they have left have turned into days and the time they didn't have appears momentarily. Leorio puts his hands on either side of Kurapika’s waist this time, and in the dim light of the room under the stamp of time above their heads, he decides that he wants to do this again, again, again.


End file.
